Band Aids

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I dislike the doctors. After being treated for many illnesses throughout my life, they finally let me down when they diagnosed me with fibromyalgia and told me that there was nothing they could do for me. After 3 years of screaming pain and a suicidal call to my beloved Mommy, we found a natural path trained physician who started me on a long healing process. I'm not cured. I still have pain 24/7. But it is manageable. And now my smile is real :o)
I think that doctors are like band aids. They try to cover up the pain instead of getting to the problem. They gave me pain killers for the pain. That is it. They didn't try to help. Pain killers. Disguise the pain, mask the pain. They can only take you so far.
As I walk around my city of cement and steel, I can't help but think that everyone around me, myself included, walks around with giant band aids plastered all over their bodies. These band aids help us get through life in a seemingly easy way. Unfortunately, like the doctor, all the band aids can do are mask the pain.
Every so often, a situation will come along that will make one of the band aids lift up at a corner... allowing a small stream of hurt to escape, double back, and pierce our hearts. We can't help but wonder why this happens... yet we all know the answer.
So many of us, again myself included, do not deal with the problems that we face as we are dealt them. We push them to the back of our minds, cover them with band aids, plaster on that smile and go about our business. But once in a blue moon (or once a week), someone will come along and say or do something that seems harmless, yet causes the band aid to lift, however big or small, and our worlds temporarily crumble from the exposed stain of the scar, no matter how old.
This happened to me tonight. Though I cannot blame the person for the misunderstanding that lead me to feeling this way, I had to consciously avoid her for the rest of the night, for fear that the band aid would rip off and the tears would flow from the sting of it all. Really, the action was small. Harmless, really. But given my emotional and pain filled history concerning this particular subject, my band aid lifted. And suddenly with no warning what so ever, the safe world that I knew shattered around me for a few hours. I struggled to sweep the pieces back together.
Was this her fault? Not entirely. If I had been brave enough to face this issue when it initially happened to me, or anytime within the last few years, I would have been fine. There may have been a small sting, but nothing of this magnitude.
So I sit here, challenging myself to start fixing myself. To work through my problems, one at a time. The issue with this challenge is that when I start trying to fix these problems, I realize that there are more that I was not aware of. I attempt to fix it all in one foul swoop and my life turns into a failed Janga game.
But here we go, once again. Because though I am now able to notice the signs that the band aid is about to lift, which I look at as progress, really, I would just like to take all of the band aids off. I do believe that slowly, with much time, prayer and faith, the band aids will fall off all on their own. Now I just need to be patient... and start sorting through the mess of hurt that I have hidden in some far, cobwebbed corner of my mind.
Blessings and love
Deena